


A Rush Of Blood To The Head

by frooley



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Depressing, I dont want to spoil, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Poetic in a sense, Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy), Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 20:25:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15420900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frooley/pseuds/frooley
Summary: could you tell me something worth fighting for?Or shall you see me crumble and fall on my face?





	A Rush Of Blood To The Head

**Author's Note:**

> Okokokok, this is a real sad fic and I apologize, its inspired by 'a rush of blood to the head' by Coldplay and while its a sad song, I felt inspired to write this? I dont know. I recommend listening to it while reading this, though.
> 
> Enjoy!

"You know, if you put your mind to it, I have no doubt that you could accomplish anything, Pete." The voice was not the one he remembered. It still sounded like him, even the little laugh he made after speaking was him, but it all just felt so distant. It felt like a machine, or better yet a broken record, repeating over and over again until he became faint.  
  
"If one day, I were to pass without achieving my dreams, Pete, will you carry them on for me?"This voice felt a little more real, since the sadness in each word was very distinct despite the wet laugh he made in hopes of clearing the tension. He remembers holding him that night, sobs and sniffles filled his dirty room in his even dirtier apartment. He wished, so bad, to repeat that day.  
  
"Peter, you need to get a hold of yourself, stop calling his number and go out, see someone new." His mother had scolded him for weeks, after being kicked out of his, **_their_** , apartment and losing his job all because he couldn't stand to lift his own head anymore. He was welcomed into his parent's house with the promise that he would get on his feet again within a month. It's been nearly a year, 2 more months and the dreadful anniversary of that day will come.

"You look like a zombie, man. Please, come out with us tonight, I promise you won't regret it." His friends tried for weeks to get him out of the house, in hope of getting him to move on. He would always decline, preferring to sleep, even when he couldn't, and think.   
  
It was like no one had sympathy anymore. He died. He died nearly a year ago because of a stupid accident that was completely avoidable, but he got told there was nothing anyone could have done to stop it.  
  
He sat on the curb by a worn out and closed 7-11, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie as cold air bit his skin. He watched as cars passed by, faster than his eyes could train on. He wondered how Patrick would feel in this moment, what he would talk about. He always wondered how he felt, despite the obvious fact that he couldn't feel, and it brought him peace, oddly.   
  
"One of these days, aliens are going to take over and train us to be their slaves. I don't think I'm ready to be someone's slave, much less an aliens." Patrick told him one day, they were at Joe's place and he was 23 and Patrick was 18. The naïve nature he held always made Pete laugh, watching him stutter over his words when he would tell him a dirty joke. That's exactly how he answers the statement, telling him 'you'd be a good slave, though.', and watched the horror play on the young mans face.  
  
If he were to turn to his right, he'd see a dead bush that once held the prettiest purple lilacs. Patrick always smelt of lilacs, he had told him it was due to his laundry detergent, not the 10 bushes of the flower his parents had in their backyard. He believed him though, smiling and pressing a soft kiss the pale skin on his cheek.   
  
The bush was much like Patrick, if he thought about it, the now Patrick. The leaves had since fallen off, and the only hope the plant held was with the tiny bud of a lilac that stood out in the middle. Death had taken Patrick, and yet the life he lived still carried in Pete.   
  
His chest felt tight and tears burned his tired eyes, he stood and walked opposite of the plant. He walked and walked, until he reached what he was looking for. The cemetery.  
  
He walked through the gates, though they were to close soon, and walked forlornly through the ghost town. He pulled out his phone and checked the time, it was 10:32. He also had some texts from his mother and Joe, asking where he was. He ignored them, they knew where he was, there's no other reason for him being out.  
  
The graves he passed were all lively with bouquets of flowers and it made his chest throb, for as he approached his target, surrounded by dead and withered lilacs, he frowned.   
  
He kneeled by the grave, fingers reaching out to trace the letters engraved into it.   
  
**_Patrick V. Martin Stumph_**  
 ** _Beloved by all, missed by many_**  
 ** _April 27, 1984 - June 8, 2010_**  
  
Pete sat there in silence, he usually talked but something about today felt off, like he should give Patrick a moment of peace when he was with him. He stared down at the flowers, lightly poking at dead petals, until he saw a bud that had survived, just barely, and felt something _give_.  
  
His whole body shook as he cried, hands gripping the sides of the gravestone, and he rested his forehead against the cold stone. He wished and prayed so hard that very moment, for a sign, a chance, something. He wanted to see Patrick again.  
  
"If you buy a gun, whether for protection purposes or not, there's a chance you hold the power to start a war." The voice, Patrick's voice, spoke to him. It wasn't something he remembered him saying, and it felt eerie. He shot his head up, and was taken aback by what he saw.  
  
_Patrick_ sat in front of him, ghostly pale and had a smile played on his lips.

"Hello Pete," He spoke softly, like sweet summer heat. "It's nice to see you again."  
  
"I-uh- I- You're- _**dead**_."

"Correct, but I've been summoned to speak to you." His smile falls, and Pete would give everything to see it again. "I need you to heal, Pete. It's hard for me to do anything if you're hurting over me."  
  
"oh."  
  
"I understand that it's hard, believe me, I miss being alive and being able to hold you, but I have to accept the fact that I can't. Not anymore at least." _Patrick_ gives a sad smile and looks away for a moment. He then reaches a hand out to Pete, touching, well ghosting, over his cheek lightly. It felt cold, like a nice breeze in the spring air.  
  
"I love you, Patrick." Pete cries, reaching to touch the pale hand, but his fingers just bleed through the mock skin.  
  
"I love you too, Peter." He spills after, leaning forward to press a kiss to Pete's forehead. He closed his eyes and felt cold again, but soon it was gone and the warm air surrounded him once again. Patrick was gone, just a mere aspect in Pete's mind again.  
  
Opening his eyes, he watched fire surround him, crackling and hissing. He stood on the boardwalk they used to visit weekly, watching the wood slowly burn and fall into the water below him. He looked behind him and _Patrick_ stood there, dressed in white.  
  
"Watch the orange glow with me, see it all disappear without a trace." Pete asked, but it was less of a question and more of just a blurb of words. _Patrick_ just stared at him, glowing and not speaking a word. He took in the sight of his beloved before it was gone, and he was falling into the water.   
  
_"I thought I'd never see your pretty face again."_  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> love u all


End file.
